


the inevitability of two blonds kissing

by theholidayclub



Category: Check Please! (Webcomic)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, M/M, Underage Drinking, canon-typical alcohol use, that's it that's the entire plot, this is literally a bunch of meet cute tropes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-01
Updated: 2015-12-01
Packaged: 2018-05-04 09:35:39
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,742
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5329322
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/theholidayclub/pseuds/theholidayclub
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Eric’s not usually one to believe in stuff like that, but the evidence is stacked against him on this one. He’ll take the cheesy rom-com moments if it means getting the guy in the end.</p>
            </blockquote>





	the inevitability of two blonds kissing

**Author's Note:**

> this is the longest one shot I've ever written I just have a lot of feelings about this gay hockey hell I've stumbled into. this was originally for the rare pare zine so that tells you how long I've been working on it. all mistakes are mine, I was too impatient to wait for it to be beta read.

_July 2009 - Nationals_

 

 

Eric doesn’t get to leave Georgia often. Ever, really - his family is very comfortably southern. Coach doesn’t even really like traveling for games with his football players. So things like this, when he gets to go to New York, of all places, are special. The fact that he and his mother were in _New York_ for him, for _his_ competition, was the cherry on top.

It was always exciting to be in a big fancy skating rink. The one back home was nothing to sneeze at, sure, but it paled in comparison to the competition space. It made Eric feel important - talented enough to be worthy of something this nice.

He’s worked really hard to be here, and he’d earned it, he knew that. That didn’t stop the moment from being a bit overwhelming. Even standing in the entrance of the building, watching the other kids competing rushing around with coaches and parents and siblings, it was hard to believe it was really happening.

He says goodbye to his mother by the entrance, with a kiss to his forehead and a “break a leg, Dicky.” After that, it was a waiting game. Soon enough it would be his turn to warm up, and then his turn to perform, and eventually his turn to find out how he scored.

He’s always hated this part.

Eric is pacing out in the hallway by the locker room, outfit (skates excluded) on and “Irreplaceable” pumping through his headphones. He’s tried not to have a pre-game ritual, tried not to put his faith in his skating abilities on superstition, but his dad is a _coach_. And there are worse (read: crazier) rituals than a playlist.

There’s a tug on his sleeve then, and he startles only a little bit, pulling his headphones out of his ears.

It’s a girl, younger than him, and smaller, which is a miracle even with the seven or eight years that are probably between them. She’s wearing a dress that sparkles in the light, and thick, bright tights, and is looking up at Eric with actual wonder in her eyes.

“Do you know how to do a braid?” she asks, like Eric isn’t a complete stranger she’s never met before. Based on her outfit, Eric figures she might be one of the exhibitional skaters, the little kids who travel with older ones who actually compete. Maybe she’s seen him at other competitions? Or maybe no one ever told her not to talk to strangers.

He _does_ know how to braid though, thanks to his mother and a few tutorials from one of his favorite YouTubers. He smiles and kneels down, taking the offered scrunchie from the little blonde. She babbles at him while he does her hair. Mostly about her routine and how excited she is to get to skate with her friends, but she also mentions her jealousy that some people took a _plane_ to get here, and she just took the train with her brother.

Eric has to remind himself that being jealous of a six year old for getting to live in New York is a little bit ridiculous.

He’s securing the scrunchie to the end of her braid just as a frantic looking teenager, probably a few years older than Eric, runs over and stops in front of them.

“I told you not to run off,” he says, kneeling in front of the little girl, taking one of her hands and checking her over for injuries and other anomalies. “You scared me.”

Her smile drops, bottom lip trembling as she pouts. “Sorry Adam,” she says in a quiet voice, curling into the older boy’s side when he stands up and hugs her.

Eric is watching the whole exchange with wide eyes, confused and simultaneously endeared. He’s assuming this is the brother who took her on a train to the competition, and can’t help but feel like he’s suddenly out of place. He’s contemplating making a quick escape and heading back into the locker room when the boy looks over at him with a grateful smile.

“Hey, thanks for helping her out. I _am_ pretty useless when it comes to braids. I can’t exactly blame her for looking for someone a who’s not as hopeless as I am.”

Eric flushes slightly, finding it hard to believe he’s being thanked rather than teased for the skill.

“It wasn’t a big deal, she was very polite. I didn’t mind at all.”

“Well, thanks anyway. We better get back to the rest of her class, but it was nice to meet you, uh…”

_Dicky_ is at the tip of his tongue, but he catches himself in time. “Eric.”

“Adam,” the other boy responds, grinning. He pats his sister’s shoulder. “And Cassie, if she hasn’t told you yet.”

“It was nice meeting you both. And good luck, Cassie,” Eric says.

“Good luck, Eric!” she calls back, already skipping away and forcing her brother to hurry and catch up to her.

“Good luck, Eric,” Adam echoes, shooting him one last smile before he turns around to follow after his sister.

Eric slips his headphones back into his ears and restarts the song he’d been listening to. He smiles, spirits a little higher and nerves a little calmer.

 

_June 2010 - Summer_

 

 

This was not how Eric had wanted to spend his summer. Breaks from school were for sleeping in, and baking, and updating his blog more regularly. It was not for early morning football camp at Georgia State.

He knows why Coach brought him along. He called it father-son bonding, but with Eric on the bleachers with his phone and his father out on the field with the players, there’s not much bonding going on. Really, he thinks Coach is hoping that by _watching_ the players, he’ll suddenly become more excited about playing.

Eric hasn’t discussed it with him yet, but he’s thinking of going out for the co-ed hockey team at his new school. Pre-season starts mid-August, and he wants to tell him soon, before his extended family descends on the house for the Fourth of July. It’ll give him something to brag about to Eric’s uncles. He never got very excited about Eric’s figure skating, but hockey is a contact sport. That should win him points.

He’s got one headphone in and one dangling by his shoulder, in case Coach calls him over for water or the time, or to get Eric’s opinion on how the boys are doing. It’s a part of the ‘bonding process’, he thinks, and Eric does his best to give good responses. He may not play himself, but you aren’t raised by Coach Bittle without knowing a thing or two about how football works.  

He's scrolling aimlessly through his Facebook feed, bored and roasting in the sun, when he notices the crowd that's approaching the football field. He frowns slightly, wondering if there's something wrong, or if the space hadn't been properly booked for the camp that day. It isn't until the group stops right by where he's sitting on the bleachers that he realizes it's a tour group for the university. He ducks his head, staring intently down at his phone, and hopes they won't notice the lowly high school (almost) sophomore accidentally crashing their tour.

The tour guide is talking about the school’s athletic programs, rambling off statistics and the Panthers’ wins versus their losses, when they seem to notice the practice going on.

“I’m not sure who’s on the field right now, maybe pre-season has started -”

“It’s a high school football camp, actually,” Eric interjects, unable to help himself. He can’t just _not_ share an answer when he knows it. Not to mention, he wouldn't want a bunch of mediocre high school athletes tainting these college prospects’ image of the football team.

The tour guide smiles gratefully at Eric, and the group spends another couple of minutes watching the kids run drills before they move on.

Eric directs his attention to his phone again, ready to get lost in an article about Perfecting Your Pie Crust (like he really needs the advice, but it still makes for an interesting read), when something pulls him out of it again.

“I never really pegged you as a football guy, I've got to be honest.”

The voice is vaguely familiar, and when Eric looks up into the blue eyes behind the rectangular frames, it only takes him a moment to place the face.

“Your sister was at my competition last year,” he says, remembering the tiny blonde who'd wanted him to braid her hair. “You - I didn't think I'd bump into you again.”

“You're telling me,” Adam laughs, leaning forward and resting his elbows on the tier of the bleachers Eric is sitting on. “But really, football? You seemed pretty comfortable on the ice last I saw you.”

Eric flushes, ducking his head, still surprised that Adam remembers him, let alone watched and remember a routine he did almost a year ago. “My dad is one of the coaches,” he explains once some of the heat has faded. “Football really isn't my thing - I was thinking of going out for the ice hockey team this year, though.”

Adam’s eyes light up then, and Eric can't stop the little swoop of his heart. It's not his fault that Adam is good looking _and_ interested in what he's saying.

“I play in the juniors,” he tells Eric. “I bet you'd be great, you're fast as hell.” He looks like he wants to say more, but he seems to notice then that the tour group has abandoned the football field, and cuts himself off.

“I better go and catch up, but it was cool seeing you again, bro.”

Eric smiles and waves after Adam, but his expression drops as soon as the blond is out of sight. _Bro_ , he repeats mentally. With a sigh, he pulls the pie crust article up again, and resolves to not add Adam’s name to his list of hopeless, never going to happen crushes.

 

 

_August 2013 - Move-in_

 

 

Eric is of average height. He has never been anything other than average. He will argue that fact until he's blue in the face. It's not like he planned everyone in his life being some kind of giant athlete.

Despite his insistence of his size, he may have overestimated his own strength (or underestimated how much he packed). Getting all of his boxes from the house to Coach’s truck had been no picnic the night before. He can't imagine what the struggle of getting it up to his dorm will be like.

Coach is parking the truck in the lot down the street now that the bed is empty, so it's not in the fire lane. That leaves Eric to stand next to his mother with all of his stuff. They're both staring at the building like its a mountain that needs conquering - and they both forgot their climbing equipment.

He leans over to pick up a couple of boxes, straightening again once he's got a grip. He turns around to tell his mother he’ll head up and she can wait with everything else, but instead of his mother standing behind him, a tall blond that Eric is sure he knows from somewhere is smirking at him. Eric feels suddenly self conscious, though he's not sure why.

He's about to say something, ask if they're in the way or if he needs something, when the blond cuts him off.

“Do you need some help? I bet we could do it all in one trip.”

He wants to protest - the guy looks like he was in the middle of a run, Eric doesn't want to pull him away, and as nice of an offer as it is they still don't know him, not to mention -

“Oh that's so sweet of you, isn't that sweet of him, Dicky? Thank you so much, that would be great. I don't know what he's planning on doing with all these boxes in a _triple_ , but Dicky’s a smart one, he's got a plan, I'm sure.”

With his mother carrying his suitcase and hockey bag and her new best friend carrying four boxes all on his own, Eric is able to take the lead with his two boxes into the building. His face is burning, and he's desperately trying to ignore the way his mother is babbling away at the poor guy who was so nice to help them out. This is the same woman who will have a twenty minute conversation with a stranger in the produce section of the grocery store. He doesn’t know why he’s surprised.

There’s a line for the elevator, but the wait is better than lugging the boxes up four flights of stairs when it’s as warm as it is in the un-air conditioned building. Eventually they make it to Eric’s dorm, boxes intact. He uses his newly acquired key to unlock the door and nudges it open with his hip. The room is bare, other than the furniture, because neither of Eric’s roommates are on a sports team, and they won’t be moving in for another couple of weeks. He drops the two boxes he’s carrying by the bed in the corner, and his mom and their new helper follow suit.

“That was very kind of you,” Eric’s mother says again, patting the guy on the arm and giving it a friendly squeeze, like she hadn’t just met him fifteen minutes ago. “What did you say your name was?”

He chuckles, shaking his head. “I didn’t, but it’s Adam.”

Eric had been opening his boxes and pointedly ignoring his mother’s extroverted behavior until then, but at the name he spins around so hard he nearly lost his balance. Now he’s remembering running into Adam at the competition, and back in Georgia three summers ago. He flushes, embarrassed he didn’t put the information together sooner.

“I should probably get back to my run,” Adam says, heading for the door. He pauses before he slips out of view, catching Eric’s eyes and winking. “It was nice to meet you ma’am - and I’m sure I’ll see you around, Eric.”

He’s so flustered by the action that he doesn’t hear his mother asking how Adam knew his name. He’s not sure she’d believe the story even if he told her.

 

_August 2013 - Pre-season_

 

 

Eric was the captain of his high school’s co-ed ice hockey team his junior and senior year of high school. They were a good team - friends, smooth on the ice, soft hands - and Eric made a pretty decent captain, compared to the other options. He was certainly the best player on the team.

The point is that Eric knows hockey. He wouldn’t be here, at Samwell, on the third line for their men’s hockey team, if he didn’t know hockey. He’s on an athletic scholarship, for goodness sake. That means something.

He’s having trouble convincing his teammates of that fact.

Every time he thinks he’s starting to really jive with them, he flinches away from a check, or says “y’all” three times in one sentence, and reminds them all that he’s the anomaly on the team. He doesn’t want to say that it’s starting to get to him - but it’s starting to get to him.

He’s not completely miserable, it’s not that bad yet. The other frogs (he’s stopped being insulted by the nickname for the freshmen to the point where he’s actually fond of it) don’t really talk to him much, but his other teammates aren’t so bad. He’s pretty sure the captain hates him, but then according to the internet Jack Zimmermann doesn’t like much else _but_ hockey, so he’s trying not to take that personally. Jack’s best friend, Shitty, has been nice to him since the beginning, even gave him his hockey nickname, Bitty. Johnson’s nice enough, if a little weird, but Eric isn’t sure anyone gets what he means when he starts talking about ‘the wonders of alternate universes’. Ransom is great, although rumors say that’s bound to change once classes actually start up. And then, of course, there’s Adam.

Everyone on the team calls him Holster, but even after being around him and the rest of the team almost constantly in the past week, he’s still ‘Adam’ in his head.

It’s been easier to connect the Adam he’s bumped into over the years to Adam in front of him playing hockey for Samwell than he thought it would be. Eric had worried about building up his image of this unreachable boy he was destined to run into but never actually connect with, but -

Eric’s internal monologue is cut short by _actually_ knocking into Adam. That’s what he gets for being distracted during warm up laps, and he probably deserves the chirps from the boys on the ice around him.

“Where’s your head at, Bits?” Adam asks, putting a hand on Eric’s shoulder to help steady him. “Don’t want you getting banged up before you play in your first game - we need you on the ice with us.”

He skates away with Ransom, and Eric quickly follows suit, keeping his head ducked and blush out of sight of his teammates.

 

_December 2014 - Winter Screw Season_

 

 

It’s not that Eric doesn’t appreciate everything his friends do for him. He knows they always have his back, and he has theirs, and it’s pretty much everything he wanted when he came to Samwell to play hockey. He’d be pressed to find better bros.

Except when it comes to Winter Screw.

He’s not typically one to mess with traditions - he loves them usually, enjoys the charm to them - but after the disaster of a date he had last year, he’s not feeling too enthusiastic about letting Ransom and Adam set him up again. They promised their matchmaking skills had improved in the last three hundred and sixty something days, but the whole ‘believe it when you see it’ mantra involves actually having to see it. He isn’t optimistic.

Ransom is particularly excited about this guy they found for him, though, boasting about holding to his promise of an accent. And it’s not like anyone else is lining up to take him out, so there’s not really anything for him to lose. He figures he might as well give the guy a shot.

To his surprise, it goes well.

So well, infact, that Eric finds himself actually having a pretty good time at the Winter Screw with him. He’s not - well, it’s rude to compare people to each other, and Eric’s not going to do that to himself. It was a nice time and he’s just going to leave it at that.

It’s been fun, dating, even if he’s not sure it’s really going anywhere. They’ve met up a couple of times to study together and grab coffee, and it’s nice, but there’s no spark. He doesn’t know how to say that though, so he’s at Annie’s again, with his phone and a pumpkin spice latte, getting into an emoji battle with Shitty in the group chat and wondering when it’s too early to bail out of the rest of the coffee date.

He’s about to excuse himself to the bathroom just for a break, when Ransom and Adam walk into the little coffee shop and spot him. The surprise on Adam’s face is so exaggerated Eric has to duck his head and force a cough to avoid laughing in his date’s face. When he sits up again, Adam is standing by the table, grinning widely.

“Sorry to pull you away Bits, but Lardo’s flipping a shit about one of her pieces for her show, and is demanding your presence. You get it, right dude?” He addresses the question to Eric’s date, and there’s a sharpness to Adam’s tone that Eric’s not used to.

His date looks a bit put out, but he shrugs and nods, and Eric stands from the table, gathering his stuff. Adam’s got an arm around his shoulders a moment later, and practically marches him to the door, where Ransom is waiting.

“Lardo’s fine, by the way,” Adam says in a low voice, head down and mouth right by Eric’s ear. “Just figured you might want an escape.”

He doesn’t question _how_ Adam knew, curious as he is. Eric just smiles gratefully and lets himself be lead out of Annie’s, flanked by his friends and planning his apology text to his date in his head.

 

_April 2015 - Spring C_

 

 

Eric is very drunk.

That’s the point of Spring C, though, so everyone says, which means he must be doing something right. He’s been drinking since Shitty brought him a mimosa - in bed!!! - that morning. He spent the rest of the early hours making enough food to feed the entirety of Samwell Men’s Hockey, and then promptly got too shit-faced to find his way back to the kitchen.

(Of course, Eric would also argue that he could find his kitchen drunk and blindfolded, so that might have been an exaggeration on his part.)

The team could hear the sound check from across the river, and that was what got them off of the front lawn of the Haus and heading over to the concert. Sandwiched between Shitty and Lardo and nursing his third (fourth?) beer, Eric has a pretty positive outlook on the evening. Mostly.

All week, people have been asking him whose shoulders he’s going to sit on at the concert, and he’s been pretty adamant about the answer being _no one_. Now that he’s actually at the concert, he’s starting to regret that stubbornness. He’s of average height, sure, but it seems like everyone else around him ate more Wheaties than he did when they were growing up.

Chowder and his girlfriend Farmer are in front of him, looking adorable in matching Sharks merch, and Eric just has to get a picture of it. As he pulls out his phone, Adam turns to look at him, grinning widely. Eric snaps that picture instead, just as Adam is asking him if he can see the show alright.

Eric flushes, so bad he probably can’t get away with blaming it on the alcohol, and shakes his head to refuse the implied offer of getting up on the older boy’s shoulders. As much as he wants to say yes, an urge so strong he surprises himself, he knows it’s a bad idea. He’s not going to do that to himself. He learned that lesson back in high school - never fall for a straight boy.

Not to mention, Lardo is already loudly reminding them all that she had claim on his shoulders weeks ago.

Eric reminds himself that it’s for the best and shotguns another beer.

That’s how he deals with most of the happenings of Spring C. More beer, encouraged wholeheartedly by Shitty and Ransom, who have plenty to go around. The concert gets better as the night goes on, although that has little to do with the actual music.

Eric is having so much fun. He _loves_ Samwell. This is the _best_.

Even when he loses a shoe, it doesn’t even matter, because his friends are the best, okay, the best. Adam is _the best_ , he _saves_ Eric, and gives him a piggyback ride all the way back to The Haus, and he only laughs at Eric a little bit. He’s the _best_.

It all gets kind of blurry after that, but he wakes up snug in his bed at four in the morning, with a glass of water on his bedside table, and it’s all he can do to text an enthusiastic “thank yu aDam :******” before he falls back asleep.

 

 

_May 2015 - Reading Week_

 

 

Procrastination is a skill that Eric has been honing his whole life. There have always been pies to bake, routines to practice, frogs to feed - clearly, homework can wait. Studying can definitely wait. Maybe if he doesn’t think about the upcoming finals he has to take, they just won’t have to be taken after all.

Unfortunately, the world doesn’t actually work that way, and he’s got no choice but to buckle down and cram for all the finals he’s been trying to ignore. Maybe by the time he’s a senior like Jack and Shitty, he’ll have learned his lesson, but until then, he’ll be holed up in the library trying not to cry.

Adam is the one to come to his rescue. He drags Eric to meals, goes over his flash cards with him, and rereads his papers one last time before Eric has to submit them online. By the time the end of the week rolls around, Eric is actually feeling pretty set to take his exams, and he knows a lot of that has to do with Adam.

They go to Annie’s for a celebratory Peppermint Mocha, and when Adam pays for the both of them Eric lets him, because this feels like one of those moments where he should.

They sit in a table in the back, near the window, and watch people walk by as the snow starts up, sipping at their drinks.

Adam breaks the silence first.

“You know you’re hot, right? I usually assume that’s a thing people realize on their own, but I’m not sure you ever got there, and I figure that’s one of those things you should know.”

Eric has to make a genuine effort to not choke on his drink, and it’s after a small coughing fit and a moment to catch his breath that he actually responds.

“I, uh - thank you? I guess I never, I mean, no one has ever really… thanks, Adam.”

The taller blond leans over his coffee, carefully moving just a little more into Eric’s space. It takes Eric a second to realize he’s holding his breath, and he exhales slowly to try and slow his heart.

“And you’re, like, super dateable. You get kinda sad sometimes, like you think that you’re not, but you _are_ , and anyone who doesn’t see that is a fucking idiot.”

It’s one of the few times Eric has seen Adam look so serious, hockey games and school aside, and there’s something nearly overwhelming about it.

“Why are you telling me this?” he asks, hands closing tightly around his coffee cup.

Adam sighs, the sound more amused than exasperated. “Because _I_ want to date you. I thought that was the obvious part.”

“H-how on earth could you think that would be _obvious_?”

“Bits, I’ve been flirting with you since that summer I saw you at Georgia State.”

“You were not.”

“I helped you move in when you were a frog.”

“You’re a nice guy.”

“I interrupted your coffee date with that guy you took to Winter Screw.”

“I didn’t really want to be there anyway.”

“I _tucked you in_ after Spring C.”

“I was drunk, it’s not like I could do it myself.”

“We’re on a date right now. I took you to Annie’s, I bought your coffee, we’re sitting at your favorite table, because I’m trying to date you. Right now.”

“Oh.”

 

Now that it’s all laid out in front of him, it’s starting to make a little more sense. Ever since he met Adam, the boy has been in Eric’s head, somehow. And he’s never really minded much.

Adam’s rolling his eyes, but he’s also grinning, and now that it’s all slotting together, Eric can’t help but match his grin.

“Everything’s kind of been leading up to this, hasn’t it?” Eric asks over his drink.

Adam quirks an eyebrow. “Almost like the universe has been trying to tell us something this whole time.”

Eric’s not usually one to believe in stuff like that, but the evidence is stacked against him on this one. He’ll take the cheesy rom-com moments if it means getting the guy in the end. He reaches across the table for Adam’s hand, and Adam takes it with a squeeze and a wink at Eric. If this were a movie, the credits would be rolling right now. Since it’s not a movie, instead of the scene fading to black, Eric gets to stand up and tug Adam towards the door, bottom lip between his teeth and a flush across his cheeks. Cliched as all of this might have been, he refuses to have his first kiss with Adam be in a coffee shop.

It’s a short walk back to the Haus. He can wait.

 

**Author's Note:**

> find me [here](http://kpcrson.tumblr.com/) crying about fictional characters and finals


End file.
